


The Importance of A Well Maintained Spreadsheet (And A Good Label Gun)

by LWTIS



Series: Creek Week [2]
Category: South Park
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Scientists, Interspecies Romance, Lab Partners, M/M, neon labels save the day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 03:51:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16380851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LWTIS/pseuds/LWTIS
Summary: The first thing Craig’s new lab partner does is throw a beaker at his head.-As part of an intergalactic exchange programme, Craig is elated to get the chance to work on another planet. His assigned partner, however, is less than thrilled about the whole prospect.Written for Creek Week. //Day 2 - Aliens//





	The Importance of A Well Maintained Spreadsheet (And A Good Label Gun)

The first thing Craig’s new lab partner does is throw a beaker at his head.  
_Well,_ Craig thinks as he ducks behind a cabinet, watching the hard plastic bounce off the tiles.  _This exchange is already going well._

When he had received his acceptance letter, the exhilaration was overwhelming enough to make him forget what a wreck the application process had reduced him to.  A three-month placement on another planet, with the chance to work in a lab far superior to his own, alongside people just as obsessed with his topic of research as he was? Completely worth losing a week’s worth of sleep over. The fact that his phone was buzzing seconds later with a similar ecstatic message from Jimmy was just the cherry on top.

The journey to Khaje had been an experience in itself. The home planet of their hosts was a stunning fusion of teal oceans and gleaming chrome metropolitans - a masterpiece of amphibious lifestyle. A complex network of canals webbed across every settlement, allowing the locals to either swim between buildings, or walk alongside the species who lacked gills. As they were led through the main street, Craig kept having to remember keep his tail tucked close to his body, lest he wanted the locals - used to very different shapes of personal space - to trample over it.    
The labs were even shinier than the pictures promised - with mirror-like floors and equipment he had only seen in catalogues before. _Equipment porn_ , Jimmy had whispered in awe, and Craig had to agree.  
Armed with lanyards, card keys and a remarkably heavy datapad, Craig bid Jimmy goodbye in front of the lifts. Whilst his friend headed for the biology department, he took the elevator to the physics labs.

Throughout the whole process, they had never put him in direct contact with his future lab partner, communications running exclusively through his mentor alone. He had only received his personal file the previous night - with only a name and an extremely impressive list of achievements. So it’s with some trepidation and excitement that he opened the door to the lab.

Which him brings him back to his current predicament.

“Who are you?!” the other shrieks from the far side of the room. There’s a muffled sound of impact as another poor piece of lab equipment is hurled in his direction. “How did you get in?!”

“...With the password.” Craig replies after a beat of silence. Cautiously, he sticks a hand out, card key gripped tight between clawed fingers. When no further projectiles follow, he allows the rest of his body to follow.

Behind the desk, chest heaving with choppy breaths, stands the most high-strung looking alien Craig has ever seen. Shaky, webbed fingers grip at his lab coat, buttons mismatched. A thin hairband held unruly blonde locks out of his face, framing a frighteningly pale face with thunderous green eyes.       

“You didn’t - nghh! - answer my question.” he snaps. Glimpses of razor-sharp teeth flash out between each rapid word. “Who are you? Why do you have access to this lab?”

“Craig Tucker.” he replies, unable to hold back a frown at the blank stare he receives in return. “...I’m on the exchange programme for the deep space exploration project…?”

Bottle-green eyes widen, the other’s fin-like ears flaring out rapidly.

“ _Seriously?_ _!_ I told Wendy I didn't want to take part in the programme - it's way too much pressure!” he wails, barely pausing to breathe between each word. “Are you sure this isn't some kind of mistake?”

Feverishly hoping to confirm just that, Craig glances down at his datapad. “Not unless your name is not...Tweek Tweak?”

The blonde’s frustrated groan crushes that hope within seconds.  
With comically convenient timing, the door slides open, revealing the smart form of his mentor Wendy. As her eyes flicker over them, taking the scene in, her cheerful smile immediately falls.  
Craig has never related to a sentiment more.

\---

Annoyingly, all paperwork turns out to be correct - and barring any major ethical or moral disagreements between the partners, reassignment or withdrawal was not an option.   
Somehow, everyone he shared the story with reacted much more positively than anticipated.  
_Give him a chance,_ Jimmy had said, amusement badly concealed.  
_Don’t let a bad first impression ruin the chance to work with someone so proficient in your field of study,_ his mom had said, with his father humming in agreement.  
_Maybe he will have better aim next time,_ Tricia had added.  
_I’m sure it will be alright,_ Token had reassured him, hand muffling whatever comments Clyde had to say.

Oh, how wrong they were.

By the end of the first week, Craig finds himself utterly exhausted and _frustrated._

His lab partner’s reluctance and discomfort only get worse as the exchange student settles into the lab. Whenever Craig looks his way, he’s all nervous ticks and shakes, sentences punctuated with involuntary exclamations. With the way he handles his notes, he’s beginning to suspect Tweek thinks him to be some sort of weird spy sent by a rival company. Worse than that is his work process - which can be described as chaotic, if feeling charitable. His partner worked on four different datapads at once, as well as a physical notebook, scribbling on whichever was closest at hand. The idea of a sleep schedule also seemed foreign to Tweek - he would submit reports and update notes on their shared server at stupid hours in the morning. For three days, Craig tried getting up earlier and earlier to beat him to the lab - a painful and unsuccessful venture. Each time, he would find the blonde already nose-deep in work, surrounded by a concerning number of empty mugs. (He didn’t even want to get into Tweek’s frightening relationship with his alien equivalent of coffee. It was black, sludge-like and smelled like stressful death.)  
It’s painfully clear that Tweek is very much accustomed to working alone - in the way he spreads his presence through the whole lab, the way he doesn’t think to check the schedule for using the machines when embraced by a sudden epiphany that must be tested. Or in his habit of just picking up whatever equipment is closest, seemingly uncaring that there was a _very limited number_ of pipettes in the lab that were designed for three fingers, and Craig didn’t have any fucking alternatives.

There’s only so many times he could ask and remind his partner of that fact nicely.

But that’s only half of why he’s so frustrated.  
The other half stems from the fact that the painstakingly obtained results were _amazing_.

Chaotic tendencies didn’t change the fact Tweek was _brilliant._ Sharp and frighteningly smart, his perspective complemented and challenged Craig’s in the best ways. Messy process notwithstanding, the blonde was always thorough in his methods and detailed in his writing. Moreover, Craig could see that he was _trying_ \- apologising for mistakes, guilt reflected in the tenseness of his spine afterwards.   

Determined, Craig brings up the map on his datapad before grabbing his keys.  
When you're not getting the desired results, you first have to change your approach.

\---

“So. I’ve bought a gun.”

With a loud clatter, Tweek whips around. His impending screech promptly dies in his throat when spotting the large label gun in Craig’s left hand. Miraculously, no coffee is spilled in the process.  

“I thought it might make life easier to label some of the equipment. To make it easier when we’re in a hurry.” Craig expands. Idly, he makes the gun wiggle.

“...the labels on the pipettes might be too small to write our - “

Swiftly, Craig raises his right hand. Between clawed fingers is a whole pack of labels, neon coloured and impossible to miss.

“Ah!”

“Yep.” Craig says, satisfaction thrumming through him at the reaction. “I also worked out a system for the equipment and inventory.” He takes a step back to reveal the rest of his shopping haul, neatly piled onto the nearby table. A loud snort escapes Tweek.

“Did you buy out the campus supermarket?!”

“Pretty much. So, first of all, I got this whiteboard - “

An hour later, the back wall of the lab has been completely overhauled. Three oversized charts hang next to the whiteboard, detailing schedules and neat lists of tasks, both outstanding and completed. Throughout his explanations, Tweek’s expression bounces between excited and oddly frustrated. It’s when he starts aggressively flicking the cap of his marker on and off that Craig clears his throat.   

“...something wrong?”

“Just - just, this - _argh!”_ Tweek says, rather eloquently. Sharp teeth dig into his lower lip. “This must have taken you ages. I'm sorry for...making you...have to do this.”

It takes some effort to mask his surprise. “...Don't sweat it. I like lists and spreadsheets.”

The blonde promptly stops in his tracks, eyes wide. “ _Nobody_ likes spreadsheets.” he says, tone somewhat scandalised. “That's just part of the - nghh - universal truth. Space is cold, the Government uses your cameras to spy on you and spreadsheets are a horrible, necessary evil.”

“....yeah, you lost me at the spy cameras, man.” Craig snipes back, shaking his head. “Doesn’t. You know. Being a scientist make you - impervious to conspiracy theories?”

“I'm not so arrogant to think science can explain everything.”

“Yeah but - _spy cameras? Really?_ ”

“Okay, _listen here -_ ”

\---

The neon labels are devastatingly effective.

\---

“Is there any - nghh - particular evolutionary reason for the multiple eyes?”

Craig hums, lifting his head from his microscope. “For maximum efficiency at conveying disapproval.” To demonstrate, all six of his eyes flutter open before he rolls them all in dramatic unison.

Tweek’s responding cackle surprises them both, prompting a second of staring before they both dissolve into rather unprofessional giggles.

\---

Slowly, subtly, their work habits begin to morph around their more casual discussions. Tweek offers to type up their notes more often, on account of owning four extra fingers. Craig gets into the habit of tipping water over his lab partner’s head every time to help keep him hydrated on long days.  

When their workdays stretch long into the evening, Craig starts making his calls home from the lab.

“How's Stripe doing?” he asks the screen of his tablet, eyes still fixed on the beaker he's cleaning in the sink. “Have you been remembering to clean his cage? Does he make noise in the night?”

Tricia’s scoff is loud, unimpressed and fond all at once. “Oh _that's_ what you want to know? Not how your sister’s final project is going? Or Mom's remodelling progress?”

“I already know about that. You sent me three dozen pictures, and I replied to all of them.” Craig snorts. Despite his tone, his lips twitch with a smile. “And did you already forget how I stayed up till 3am here to watch Mom unveil the new porch through your gross shaky camera lens?”

“You're welcome.” Tricia says sweetly. “And you can stop pretending like Stripe’s cage isn't fitted with that ridiculously expensive VI caretaker. You could perform minor surgeries in his cage.”

“Yeah, but that thing doesn't play with him. Answer the fucking question.”

“He is fine! Nothing unusual. We watched the game together yesterday.”

Craig wrinkles his nose in disapproval. “You know he likes Red Racer and the weather channel the best.”

“There's nothing wrong with Stripe expanding his horizons!” his sister insists hotly. “He can't just limit himself to two things for the rest of his life!”

Craig is about to launch into a very reasonable argument against expanding Stripe's horizons towards _sports_ of all things when he hears a muted snigger. He glances towards the door, spotting Tweek with a hand over his mouth. His free arm is loaded full of folders.  

“Are those the results?” he asks, reaching to shut the tap. “Do you wanna go over them now?”

“Yeah but - “ Tweek makes an urgent gesture, already turning to leave. “Please finish first! We can - nghh - do it tomorrow.”

“Is that Tweek?” Tricia’s voice rings out excitedly. “Let me say hi!”

The blonde freezes in the doorway. Behind the initial petrification, there’s obvious curiosity in his expression. Craig gives him a minute before clearing his throat expectantly.

Tricia’s grin is wide when they both duck into the frame, green eyes gleaming with undisguised excitement. “Hi Tweek! It's nice to put a face to the name!”

Tweek’s voice is mostly steady when he returns the sentiment. Craig feels oddly proud.

“I’d like to congratulate you for not murdering my brother after working in the same lab as him for almost two months straight!” his dearest sister cheerfully continues. “As far as our family is concerned, you’re a hero.”

“Ah! I - it’s the opposite. Really.” the blonde splutters. “He’s been really accommodating.”

“In that case, send him to the infirmary. He might be dying.”

She says her goodbyes ten minutes later, citing another incoming call from a ‘friend’ and hanging up before Craig can gleefully call her out on it (he's seen those selfies on Karen's social media, he _knows_ ). He rolls his eyes as they move to lock up, smile still lingering. “Sorry about her.”

“She’s nice.” Tweek says, hefting his bag higher. “You guys would make good money with a stand-up routine.”

“I'd rather eat glass.” Craig says with a shudder. Swiftly, he reaches to grab three folders before they tumble out of Tweek’s grip.

“The physical divergence within your species is really cool though.” the blonde notes, eyes twinkling with the excitement of a new discovery. “Even in the same family - you and Tricia have completely different coloured eyes and scale patterns!”

It takes a tremendous amount of effort not to start laughing. “That's because I'm adopted, Tweek.”

“Oh - shit, _sorry_ \- “

“No sweat. It’d be more obvious if our parents were there too.” Swiftly, he ignores how little that potential scenario bothers him. “What about you? Do you have any siblings?”

The smile vanishes off the other’s face. Swiftly, Tweek fixes his gaze straight ahead. “No. Only child.”

They swipe their cards at the end of the corridor in silence. Only when the lift doors slide shut does Tweek speak again.

“...I don’t really keep in touch with my parents anymore.” he murmurs. Impossibly, his shoulders get even tenser. “They haven’t been interested in me since I stopped breaking my back to bring their dreams to life.”

Something sharp twists inside Craig’s chest at his words, heavy with implications. He hates every single one.

“Fuck that.” he scoffs, with the emotional delicacy that has earned him his very limited social circle. “Sounds like you made the right decision then.”

For a heavy moment, there’s no response. Then there’s a soft laugh, a shoulder bumping against his own.

“Yeah. I did.”

-

Craig suspects Tweek might be shooting him suspicious looks after being called over to check his screen - and being greeted by eighteen eager eyes instead of graphs.    
But then his mother is crooning a compliment at their latest successful findings, followed by his father’s serious inquiry about Tweek’s opinion about wooden spaceships in bottles, and glaring suddenly shifts off the blonde’s priorities list.  
(His family’s knowing glances are much harder to ignore.)

\---

Barring the occasional storm, they spend their lunchtimes outside.  
The break area is very different to the one Craig is used to, all faded parasols and padded benches. Here, there was an honest-to-God artificial lake, bang in the middle of the grounds, surrounded by lush vegetation and a dozen wide piers. During lunchtime, it’s usually teaming with people, either floating peacefully on their backs or swimming aggressive laps around the lake.   

Today is warmer than usual. The humidity weighs heavy on his lungs with every breath, the fabric of his shirt bothersome against his skin. Tweek, already submerged to his neck, bears no similar qualms. His waterproof thermos floats next to him, bobbing along agreeably. Muffling a sigh into his collar, Craig kicks his shoes off before taking his customary seat at the edge of the pier, toes dangling into the water. He just finishes rolling his sleeves up when Tweek swims over.

“What you having today?”

“Something with a really fancy name that’s basically just a sandwich.” Craig replies. He shifts to curl his tail against his leg. “Let me guess. You’re having fish again?”

“It’s fresh.” Tweek shrugs. Idly, he licks his lips clean of blood. “Have you thought of another way to approach the calculations?”

“No, because your book kept me up all night. If you wanted me to have a productive evening, you shouldn’t have lent me a book about _pirates_.” he grumbles, raising a hand to rub at his eyes. “My head feels stuffed full of cotton.”    

Tweek laughs. As he turns, the sun catches in on his damp locks, making him radiant for a split, brilliant second.  
It’s not quite enough to disguise the gleam in his eyes, though.

“Well. There’s a very easy solution for that.”

“What’s with that - no, Tweek, don’t you fucking dare, you let go of my ankle right fucking now - “

\---

On Friday, he catches himself slowing down in front of a flower shop, eyes lingering on the bouquets crafted from beautiful, unknown flora. His eyes are drawn a small potted plant, stalk blue and petals yellow. He briefly considers stepping inside when he realises what exactly he’s doing.  
The looks he gets from the shop-owner as Craig proceeds to smack his forehead against the display window is a very concerned one.

\---

“H-h-hey, Craig, have you seen the - _oh._ ”

Mortified, he hastily closes the tab he had been pouring over. Apparently, not quickly enough.

“That s-site is actually puh...pretty crap when it comes to i-i-interspecies da-dating advice - “

“Please stop talking.”

\---

The line rings once more before going straight to voicemail. With a frown, Craig cuts the line.  
The months have rushed past with alarming speed, and before he could wrap his head around it, he is back at the station once more - with Jimmy by his side, holding a heavier bag and a significantly heavier heart. Tweek hadn’t been at the lab when he went to return his lanyard and his keys. He hadn’t been at the lake - or anywhere on the grounds, as far as he could tell. All his messages and calls were left unanswered.  
Craig has no idea why.

To his left, Jimmy clears his throat. His expression has been annoyingly sympathetic since he learnt of his predicament.

“We’re supposed to be boarding already.” Craig says, for the sake of breaking the silence. His skin itches under his coat.

“Y-yeah. Ca...captain says we’re wa-waiting for one more pa...passenger.”

He frowns, turning to take inventory. “The only ones going back are you and - “

“Sorry for the delay!”

A familiar voice cuts through the air, followed by thunderous footsteps and a very familiar figure, dragging a suitcase behind him. Craig can only stare, eyes wide and jaw loose as Tweek comes to a halt right in front of him.

“I’m - _argh_ \- so sorry - I didn’t - answer your calls - “ the blonde manages to say in-between gasps for air. “You would not _believe_ what a dickhead my landlord decided to be at the very last minute.”

“Uuuuh.” comes Craig’s intelligent reply. Swallowing a curse, he tries again. “...Landlord?”

Tweek takes his time straightening up. When he finally does, he cheeks are flushed.

“I...I might have...asked around to see if there were. Any. Placements on your home planet. Specifically in...in your city.” He glances off to the side, missing the sharp hitch in Craig’s breath. And the no doubt idiotic way that he was staring at the blonde - stunned, stupid, smitten. Pathetically hopeful. “And uh...turns out that there might be a few - nghh - opportunities that I’d be stupid to miss.”   

Hidden on his tablet is an embarrassingly large file detailing local courting customs and general cultural notes.  
In one swoop fell, Craig throws the entire thing out of the metaphorical window in favour of sweeping Tweek right off his feet and kissing him stupid in the middle of the station.

(Thankfully - he notes as webbed fingers cup his cheeks, Tweek’s smile warm against his lips - the gesture is not lost in translation.)

\---

 

AN:

This one gave me much more trouble than it should have but I do adore anything involving aliens. I like to think they'd make a pretty awesome science team - Tweek would be an engineering genious, whilst Craig would happily test all his new inventions and proposals. 

Please check out all the other awesome submissions over on the [Creek Week Tumblr!](https://creek--week.tumblr.com/) And whilst you're there, [hit me up :)](https://lwtis.tumblr.com/)


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